


We'll Make A Stand

by Jutschina



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Retelling, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jutschina/pseuds/Jutschina
Summary: Retelling the final moments of the battle at the barricade from the perspective of dead-drunk but not quite so asleep Grantaire, inspired by the lyrics of Michael Schulte's beautiful songJump Before We Fall.





	We'll Make A Stand

_When the kids stand up_  
_Everybody's thinking that the world got tough_

With waving flags and loaded guns, with battle cries and songs of war, they stood tall and did all they could to defend the barricade. Students, no more than boys, with the silly idea in their minds that they could change the world.

All but one. Grantaire was huddled up in a corner of the café, dead-drunk and more asleep than awake. Peeking through the open window, he could barely see them down there at the barricade, fierce and brave and dying. They couldn't win, of course not. And he, he shouldn't be here -- the sceptic among the passionate, the doubter among the doubtless.

 _I shouldn’t bother_  
_So why do I find_  
_Myself in the corner_  
_I try, I try, I try_

 _To break from the others_  
_When breaking is hard_

He wasn't here for their revolution, he never had been -- and now, as the world he knew started to fill with battle cries and and gunshots, he wanted to weep because of it. Or maybe even _that_ was just testimony for the alcohol in his blood. His head was aching and yet, he could not stop himself from crawling closer to the window, looking down at the scene of bloodshed.

 _I'm flying high now_  
_But hitting a low_  
_Light from the outside_  
_It grows, it grows, it grows_

Feuilly was the first of them to fall. They had positioned themselves on the barricade,

 _Lined up like soldiers_  
_To fall, to fall apart,_

and suddenly, Feuilly collapsed where he stood, and nobody noticed but Grantaire. They were busy fighting for their own lives now. Only he, the _drunk failure_ in his hideaway spot in the café, he noticed, and he couldn't even scream. He fell backwards, babbling, as if the bullet that had killed his friend was now piercing his own body, and the pain of loss -- though benumbed by the wine -- was creeping up to his heart. This wasn't right.

Now, he could hear them scream down there. Names, maybe called out for the last time ever.

_"Courfeyrac, no-"_

_"Down, Marius, before they--"_

_"Get up, Joly, get up, get---"_

Most of the calls were interrupted, or ended in cries of a different kind -- cries of death. Grantaire closed his eyes, pressed them shut. He still was clasping a bottle of wine, and he raised it to his lips with a trembling hand, over and over again, as though he did not notice that it was long empty.

 _When the kids stand up_  
_Everybody's hearing the call_

But nobody had heard _their_ call. And so, the students fell, one by one.

Suddenly, sounds coming even closer. Steps on the staircase -- the last fighters fleeing towards his refuge, five men, no more, among them Combeferre and Bossuet. Bossuet shot a brief glance at Grantaire before turning to the others and pushing them aside -- a gunshot -- he broke down in the middle of the room.

Then, a shock of blonde hair appearing at the top of the staircase. Chopping sounds, and up climbed Enjolras, an axe in his hand, fierce and beautiful, and capable of sobering Grantaire up within seconds. Enjolras' shirt, formerly white, was drenched with blood -- but not his own as it seemed: He moved as swift and as elegant as ever, without any sign of pain or injury, and the axe that he had used to hew down the staircase now sunk into the skull of one of the attackers.

Grantaire saw him, radiant like a fierce god, and he was ashamed. He crawled back into a corner of the room and watched his friends, but most of all, HIM, fight. They made the guards pay through the nose for their lives.

 _And keep pulling all the bones apart_  
_And keep taking all these words too hard_

When the attackers finally managed to storm the room, Enjolras was the only one still standing. He retreated backwards to the wall without shrinking in his pride, and as the guards had closed in on him, the world grew so silent that it hurt Grantaire's ears.

The fighting had ceased completely, not just in this room but also in the streets and in the whole world. So it appeared to Grantaire who was not sure whether he was drunk still or had indeed sobered up by the mere presence of Enjolras.

But whatever senses -- drunk or sober -- were ruling his mind during that moment, _they_ were not responsible for his actions. His fear was gone, and in its place, there was love, glowing passionately and wild and loud. Love for the cause he'd always doubted, and love for the man who'd invoked it. Love for life itself -- a life that was not meant to be.

Enjolras was alone right now, cornered by the guards, but that was not how he was going to die. Not alone, not if Grantaire could show him after all that he was capable of believing, of thinking, of willing -- of living -- and of dying.

 _It starts in the darkness_  
_It longs for the light_  
_And only you and I_  
_We fight, we fight, we fight_

When he took his place at Enjolras' side, he was as firm a believer as any of them, as thoughtful a thinker, willing and strong and serious. He took Enjolras' hand and smiled. He smiled even wider when the bullets hit his chest, and he kept pressing Enjolras' hand until he couldn't feel it anymore, and he kept his eyes fixed on the Angel until his view grew dark. Dying, he knew that he had made his stand when it'd mattered the most -- and maybe, Enjolras knew it, too.

 _Oh, are you gonna take my hand?_  
_We'll make a stand_  
_It's you and me against the world_  
_We only got today_  
_So what d'you say?_  
_We'll jump, we'll jump before we fall--_

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, short story time. Michael Schulte is Germany's Eurovision contestant for this year but I couldn't have cared less about him until a friend of mine called my attention to his hair being the perfect Enjolras hair. I then started listening to his songs and found so many lyrics that were basically screaming "This is R singing about/to E" - which killed me - and then I found this song which made me think of the amis and the barricade immediately (and, needless to say, killed me even more because of it).  
> So now, surprise, I really fell in love with this artist and his music, and it all started because his hair reminded us of Enjolras. Thanks, Simona :D ♥


End file.
